


Who Should Give Law to Lovers? (Love Is a Greater Law to Itself)

by Sineala



Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: BDSM, Community: kink_bingo, Disability, Dominance, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Movie(s), Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-01
Updated: 2011-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-23 07:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Esca offers Marcus the chance to take command again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Should Give Law to Lovers? (Love Is a Greater Law to Itself)

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I would challenge myself and write a story where Marcus tops. Title stolen from the Consolatio Philosophiae, because why not? Written for Kink Bingo; the square is "masters, doms, slaves and subs."
> 
> Thanks to Carmarthen and Lishan for beta!

The worst part is not knowing. Marcus used to know everything. He used to know himself. He has been a soldier, and he took a certain kind of pride in himself: in marching, in fighting, in commanding. And he used to know exactly where his limits were. He knew how far he could walk before becoming wearied. He could trust his body to behave, to act as he willed in battle. If he held his shield high and braced himself in formation, he could be confident, absolutely so, that the first onslaught of the enemy would not cause him to lose his footing and tumble.

He does not know these things anymore.

His uncle's villa sits on a good-sized amount of land, and out past the fences there is no one to see him as he tries, desperately, to relearn himself.

After Galarius had searched the wound again, Marcus knew he was healing, every day better than before, and he could hold out hope, foolish as it might sound, that one day he would wake and be as he had been. Then he went north for the Eagle, and he knows now he will never recover.

Oh, he might have, he thinks, if he hadn't been dragged by a horse, if he hadn't reopened the wound during their terrified scramble south from the Seal People, tripping over harsh terrain, if he hadn't then stood in a battle-line shoulder to shoulder with the last of the Ninth. And for all except the first, he did those things willingly: the choice between taxing his leg and dying was no choice at all.

The ride to Eboracum with the Eagle was rough -- harder than the flight from the Seal People, since he was already strained from battle. Mercifully, he doesn't remember much of it now: a few scattered fragments of the memory of pain with the horse's jolting gait, the agony of trying to mount and dismount, and Esca's strong hands on him, holding him steady, helping him down, a thing he ought to resent but did not. It took all of Marcus' strength to stand tall as he carried the standard to the Sixth's legate. The moment they had left Marcellus' (and Placidus'!) sight, he had his arm around Esca again, leaning on him as they stood in a deserted side-street. That was also when Esca first kissed him, so it is not as if it has all been bad, since then, and Marcus smiles to think of it.

The long winter only pained his leg more, however, and today Esca is not here. It is only him, alone in the field, and he is going to march, as he was trained. Though it is not quite summer yet, the normal pace in summer-hours is twenty miles in five hours. He knows how to do this. He remembers this speed. And if he knows it in his mind, his body ought to know it as well.

So Marcus marches. One foot in front of the other, faster and faster, his heavy boots grinding into the earth. It doesn't hurt, not at first, and he wonders, as he wonders every time, if perhaps he was wrong about the injury, and perhaps he is healed after all--

Then, of course, the pain sets in, and suddenly, shamefully, all his strength is gone.

He tries to lift his leg higher, to take another step. The twisted muscle of his thigh sends fire all down his leg, and it simply... does not respond. All he can do is shuffle forward. The worst of it is that he cannot predict this. He is perfectly agile at one moment, and then, with the next step, he is not, and he does not know when it will come upon him, only that it will.

It is only pain, he tells himself. He is stronger than this. If he can push himself just a little further, work just a little harder--

He is sweating as he lifts his leg for the next step, and when he puts it down his body flatly refuses to obey. He cannot support his own weight, and he topples unceremoniously into the grass, falling heavily. Agony bursts white-hot all up into his hip and side, and Marcus stares up into the cloudy sky and curses through gritted teeth.

There is no chance of him being as he was. There is no chance of him even standing up and going inside, not until it hurts a little less.

So Marcus lies on his back and tries not to make any sound at the pain, and that is how he is when a shadow moves over him.

"Marcus, where have you been?" Esca's voice is tense with worry. "I couldn't find you--"

He waves his hand, because that at least he can move. "I was walking," he forces out. "Marching, as a soldier does. Or trying to. And then-- and then--"

He can't even say it.

Esca sits down next to him. "Oh, Marcus," he says, softly. "Come here."

And Esca pulls him backwards a little -- carefully, so that Marcus does not have to use his leg to lever himself -- until his head is in Esca's lap. Esca runs his fingers through Marcus' hair, and as always, Marcus manages a smile, even with the pain. He likes when Esca does this, though he is glad there is no one else here to see them.

"You should have known me before," Marcus says, when he can speak again. It is a ridiculous thing to say. He does not think Esca would have even liked him before, when he was an arrogant soldier, convinced of the unshakable glory of Rome, greater than all others; after all, it was Esca who taught him to be otherwise. But he wants Esca to know he was not always like this.

Esca traces the shape of Marcus' hairline with two fingers, down to his ear, then his jaw, stroking ever so lightly. "I am glad I know you now," he says, and Marcus can feel Esca's body vibrating with the sound. It is comforting, though he would not admit that either.

But something twists within Marcus, and though he knows that battle-scars are certainly honorable to bear, in his mind that is only an honor for others. His scars are not. His are the life of a friend, an instant's decision in battle forever marked on his body. A career cut short.

He would not leave Esca for the Eagles, of course, but it is still wretched to know that even if he wanted to, he could not; the path is closed to him forevermore. It would have made his father proud if he'd stayed a soldier, if he'd risen through the ranks.

"I was a centurion," Marcus says, the words harsh and bitter. "I commanded men in battle. Now I cannot even make my own leg obey me."

"It matters not to me." Esca's reply is quick. "If that is your worry, Marcus, you should not fret so, for you know I love you."

Marcus shakes his head. That is not the problem. Oh, he did worry, those first few nights with Esca in his bed, that Esca would rather have another lover, a stronger, more capable man. But the worries faded quickly as they spent time learning each other, and Esca always laughed and sighed and moaned and murmured things in British that he refused to translate, and he never once seemed to mind that Marcus could not do everything perfectly. No, Esca is not the problem at all.

The problem is Marcus himself, and he can do nothing about it.

"It is only so _frustrating_ ," Marcus says, digging his fingers uselessly into the dirt. "I am powerless."

He realizes as soon as the words leave his mouth that perhaps he should not have said it. Esca has been a slave, after all, and has suffered more than Marcus by any measure. But they have been each other's slaves, and so he hopes Esca will not take offense at this.

Esca tenses against him and is silent for a bit, then he reaches over and encircles Marcus' wrist with one hand as he speaks. "I have a suggestion," he says, sounding hesitant, and he never, ever sounds like this.

"Yes?"

Esca looks down at him and gives him a strange half-smile. "Command me."

"What?" He can't have heard Esca correctly. This is, after all, the man who hated to be his slave, who was willing to throw his life away in the arena just to die on his own terms. Esca cannot have said that.

"You want to command someone. To have power over them." Esca's hand tightens on his wrist. "I'm here. Command me. Whatever you want. Make me do it."

Esca licks his lips, and the domain of things Marcus could make someone do narrows to several intriguing possibilities. Yes. No. Yes. No. He shouldn't.

Marcus twists himself out of Esca's lap, shaking his head violently. "You can't mean that. I don't want to-- I can't force you--"

Worse, even as he is denying it aloud, desire moves down through his bones, and he is burning with sudden raw need. Oh, if he could, if he could just be in control again, if Esca would let him-- but no, he was never cruel when he was Esca's master in truth, and he will not start now.

"It isn't forcing." Esca's voice is low and soothing. "Not if I want it. And I do, I assure you." He smiles. "And you do, too. You need not deny it. You could have me do anything you liked." He offers this so simply, as if it is a free, easy thing for him to say. "I would kneel for you. Lie down for you. Or--" his voice lowers-- "maybe you'd like to hold me down and make me?"

"No," Marcus says instantly. He does not want to play at forcing Esca. "I would not have you pretend to be unwilling."

Esca pets his arm in a kind of reassurance. "All right. Willing, then. But you could still hold me down, if you wanted." He gives a little shaking breath, his eyes going darker, and then Marcus realizes that Esca, too, likes this idea.

Arousal mixes with nervous anticipation in Marcus' gut. Oh, he could pin Esca, have him beneath him, and do... what? His mind is blank. If he can choose anything, what if he chooses wrongly? What if Esca would rather he do another thing? If Esca is determined to do what Marcus wants, he might not even say whether he hates it, or if Marcus is hurting him, or--

"I would not know what to ask for." The words rush out of him; he is practically babbling now. "And I would not want to make you do anything you truly did not want--"

"Anything we've done before, I will happily do again," Esca says. "And since I am not pretending to say no, I will tell you no if there is something I do not want."

Marcus pushes himself to sitting and takes a breath. "Very well," he says, drawing himself up until his spine is straight, and he tries to remember what it was like to be a centurion. How he would give an order. "Lie down, then," he tries.

That will be safe, there. That is a good way to start, for surely Esca would never object to lying down, and perhaps then he can think of something to want next.

And Esca just grins at him, and Marcus knows then that even if Esca has offered to submit, he will do it in his own way. Esca's eyes are fire. "I will if you make me."

Marcus leans forward and shoves Esca, hard, but not hard enough to hurt, and Esca laughs and shoves him back, moving atop him. It is if they are sparring, rolling across the grass together, but then Esca bites his neck and Marcus feels all the sensation fix exactly there, perfect and concentrated, and he groans in pleasure.

"More of that," he says, the words oddly awkward. "Do that again." It is silly, how difficult it is to say, when he has said these words before. He has probably even said them to Esca more than once, but it is very different now to think of the words as a command. What if Esca laughs? What if Esca will mock him? What if he refuses and leaves?

Esca's eyes are nearly black now, and he breathes a small, quiet breath through parted, smiling lips. It is familiar and strange all at once. It is the look on Esca's face from that first time, when they tumbled into bed at that inn at Eboracum and they could barely keep their hands off each other -- excitement and pleasure and newness all wrapped up together.

Esca likes him to say these things, Marcus realizes, suddenly. Esca _likes_ being told what Marcus wants of him, being told what Marcus likes him to do, being ordered to do so, in the same way he likes kissing or fucking or any of the pleasant things they do together.

When Esca ducks his head to comply he rolls them both over and pins Esca's arms above his head. He cannot hold this position very long -- since he doesn't want to hurt Esca's hands, his weight is all on his good leg -- but from the look in Esca's eyes, he thinks Esca won't mind as long as he keeps doing things Esca likes. It is wondrous, almost unbelievable, that Esca who was his slave should enjoy this, that he can have what he wants and Esca will like it too.

And Esca likes this. Through the thin braccae, he is already hard, and he is thrusting up against Marcus, trying to rub himself off. It is... gratifying. Of course it is, but together with that is a twining thread of fear and disbelief. It feels almost unreal -- what if it is not real? What if Esca will take it away? He should not force Esca, should not use him--

"How does that feel, Marcus?" Esca whispers. "You can do anything you want to me. Anything." And he smiles and tilts his head back, baring his throat.

Knowing that Esca has given him this power sends a dizzying rush through his mind, as heady as the arousal, in a different way. Command was never like this. This is much, much better. He has control. He has authority. And Esca enjoys it.

So he lowers himself down and kisses Esca. And Esca smiles and goes slack and open under him, offering himself up, his mouth sweet and perfect. He holds out absolute trust, and Marcus' heart clenches as he realizes how much of himself Esca is risking, to offer this to him, after all the ways Rome has scarred him too.

This cannot be an easy thing for Esca, Marcus knows. He might have done this before, as a youth, with his own people, but surely it is different to lie down for the man who used to be one's master.

"You like this?" he asks, his voice coming out of him in surprise, still only half-believing that Esca would want to be commanded just as much as Marcus wants to command him. "Doing this? Letting me...?"

And Esca smiles as though it is all simple. "It's wonderful."

Marcus kisses him again and again, heavy and rough like he has never before dared. Esca makes a small high noise in his throat and relaxes, quite suddenly, all the tension gone out of him. He isn't even fighting the hold, or pretending to, but merely sliding one wrist in Marcus' grip as if he just likes the feel of it.

Marcus' leg protests again; that is all he can take. He hisses and rolls off Esca, so that they are now next to each other in the grass, but he cannot make himself let go of Esca's wrist.

He brings his free hand up to stroke Esca's hair and Esca smiles. And then, then, he thinks of something he wants.

Marcus looks at Esca and is caught up in nervousness. Can he ask this? It is a thing they have done, after all, but what if Esca does not want it?

He clears his throat. He can say this. It is only a few words. Only words.

"Suck me, Esca."

And Esca inhales, a sharp noise -- and Marcus wonders for one terrified moment if he has presumed too much -- and then he smiles wider. "It would be a pleasure to obey."

Marcus turns onto his back as Esca moves down his body, fingers working at the fastenings of his braccae. And then Esca's mouth closes on his cock, and it is so good, so very good, and he wants desperately to hold Esca there, push him down, use him, but he struggles not to. Instead, his hand closes uselessly on Esca's shoulder. It is one thing for Esca merely to suck him, for that is improper enough; it is another thing for Marcus to do... that.

He grits his teeth and Esca looks up at him curiously, finally lifting his head. "Marcus? Is something wrong?"

He shakes his head. "No, no, it is nothing--"

"It is something," Esca says, and Marcus wishes for once that Esca were not quite so clever.

Marcus sighs. "It is nothing I can ask of you."

"It is," Esca says. "Tell me, and I will."

"I want--" Marcus breathes out, raggedly. "I want to hold you down. While you do that." This time when he speaks, he has found himself, and the words are an order, one he can hardly believe he is now giving, one he has thought about, shamefully, for long months. "Deeper. Your mouth. I want to make you--"

It is as much as he can get out, but it is enough.

And Esca smiles and licks his lips, and puts Marcus' hand in his hair. As he opens his mouth Marcus pushes and Esca sinks down, taking him all in, and it is even better than before, because here he is with his fingers twisted in Esca's hair, and Esca is moaning like nothing in the world would possibly make him happier, his eyes half-closed in bliss, and he has done this, he has taken Esca and made him his, Esca who would submit to no one but him--

The pleasure crests and breaks, all too soon, and Marcus is trembling and arching up and coming and coming, and Esca does not let him go.

Afterwards, Esca pushes himself up and wipes his mouth off, still smiling, and Marcus waits to hear if he will say he has regretted it, or hated being ordered. But Esca only grins lazily, looking like a man pleased with an accomplishment.

"Ah, Marcus," Esca says, "you know I love sucking your cock."

Marcus' cock twitches a little at that, though he is spent, and Esca smiles to see it. But there's no reason he cannot continue to command Esca, is there? They are not done yet.

"Tell me more about that," Marcus replies, making his voice firm with command. "And touch yourself. I want to watch."

"You give the nicest orders," Esca says, and the happiness in his voice fills Marcus with a strange contentment. Yes. This is the way it should be. Already he is undoing his braccae and has himself in hand, hard and heavy with need, and Marcus knows Esca will not last long.

"Talk to me."

Esca, ordinarily a man of few words, is a man of many more words when they are in bed. And now they trip their way out of him, in halting half-sentences punctuated by hoarse breaths.

"I-- ah-- I love it so much." Esca's hand slides along the length of his cock and Marcus watches, enthralled. "It is pleasant in my mouth, oh, then I am filled, like when you fuck me." Esca bites his lip and his hand twists a little, squeezing harder; he seems to like that thought.

"More," Marcus prompts, when it seems Esca has forgotten what he was saying.

"Oh!" Esca's voice is all breath now. "And I like-- I like how much it pleases you, ah, Marcus--" his hand blurs on himself, so fast is he moving it, fingers sliding over the head, and surely he is close now-- "and I like when you spend yourself, oh, in my mouth, ah, or you could, mmm, oh--"

He does not give voice to his last thought, and Marcus watches as Esca's fist tightens and he comes, gasping, spilling onto his fingers. And he is beautiful.

Marcus moves closer and kisses Esca, who, panting, can barely return the kisses, and smiles dazedly over at him.

"Well, Marcus?" Esca asks. "Do you like what you made me do?"

He has to pause and think about it. Not because the answer is not yes, although it is still a little shameful to admit how much he liked it, and Esca's words put him in mind already of more things they could do together, if Esca would permit it. He pauses to think because he feels... strong now. Where he was lacking, Esca has given him his own self back, bound together with his.

It is an odd feeling, this sense of command, and in some ways it is not too dissimilar from the day of his promotion, pacing his century with vitis in hand, acutely aware of his authority, as all eyes looked to him. Here it is only Esca, but it is better than having the respect of eighty.

"Yes," he says, honestly. "Very much."

Esca is free with his smiles now, all lazy and wide-eyed. "I did as well."

"But--"

"Hmm?"

"I was only wondering what you were about to say there, at the end."

Esca smiles. "I'll tell you tomorrow."

He blinks. "What's happening tomorrow?"

"Why, we're doing this another time," Esca replies, as if the answer is obvious, and Marcus realizes he is grinning like a fool.

"Kiss me again now," Marcus says, because he can. It is an order as well; now, he knows, he can give them again.

"I don't see you making me," Esca replies, smirking, and bites his neck once more.

And this is how it is. He is not Marcus Aquila the invalid, Marcus Aquila the cripple, Marcus Aquila the lamed soldier with nothing of value left to him. He is Marcus Aquila who is loved by Esca and who loves him in turn, and he cannot wish for a life better than he has.


End file.
